I watch Jorgen swing one leg over the bike and straddle it. Then, he turns and pats a part of the black leather seat behind him. I try to move, but I’m frozen. I just can’t seem to pick up my foot and take the first step.
“Come on,” he says again, smiling and waving me closer toward him.
I suck in a big breath. My heart is racing now. I can feel its thuds hitting hard against the wall of my chest. I even feel as if I can hear its beats. But Jorgen’s eyes are comforting somehow in a weird way. I haven’t figured out why yet. Maybe blue is just a comforting color. I try to pick up my foot again, and this time, it moves. And before I know it, I’m swinging my leg over the bike and resting a foot on each peg. I take a second then and let it sink in that I’m on the bike — that I’m on a bike for the first time since… I stop the thought, close my eyes and let the breath I’ve held hostage in my lungs for the last minute slowly escape my lips.
“Helmet,” he says, handing it to me.
I take it and carefully squeeze it over my head before he twists around and takes the straps underneath my chin and snaps them together.
“It fit okay?”
I nod my head. The big helmet nods with me.
“Good,” he says. “First time you’ve ever been on a bike?”
I will my heart not to drop to the bottom of my stomach.
“A Harley…yes,” I manage to say.
“Okay, you should probably hold on,” he says, smirking back at me.
I wrap my arms around his midsection, somewhere between his waist and his chest. I purposefully lay my hands flat against his body so that I can feel every muscle.
“You ready?”
I think about his question, but clearly, not long enough because the next thing I know, my head is nodding yes—even though I’m not so sure if I’ll ever truly be ready for this.
“All right,” I hear him say. “Nice and tight.”
I squeeze him tighter and then hear the puttering start of the engine. A few moments later, I feel the force pushing me backwards and the loose gravel on the driveway giving way under the tires. But then, I also feel the wind hit my arms and legs, and I close my eyes. There’s adrenaline, and there’s fear, but mostly, I just feel the wind. I feel the parts warmed by the sun and those pockets cooled by the shade. Every breath of summer air brushes over me, dancing and swirling, and ultimately, carving new memories deep into the pores of my skin.
Chapter Twenty
Fair
“There are three things that you have to do at a county fair,” Jorgen says, flashing me his now famous crooked smile.
“And what are those three things?” I ask.
He holds out one finger. “Number one. You must get a funnel cake.”
“Dessert?” I ask.
“Dessert,” he confirms.
We stop at a food-truck-looking thing with an opening on one side and a big whiteboard on the other. On the whiteboard, there’s a list of fruits and sweets scribbled down two columns.
“You’ve had a funnel cake before, right?”
I purse my lips in deep thought. And eventually, I shake my head.
“No?” he asks.
He looks so shocked or offended — I don’t know which — that it makes me laugh.
“Isn’t it just a bunch of fried dough or something? I’ve had a doughnut before.”
“No, no, no, sweetie,” he says, as if adding the term of endearment takes away the horror in his voice. “Doughnuts and funnel cakes are not the same.”
He asks the woman in the truck for a plain cake with extra powdered sugar.
“Your first one has to be plain,” he explains. “And when you graduate from that, we can start adding the toppings. But if you ask me, I think plain’s the best anyway.”
I give him my best apprehensive look. He just smiles and eventually takes a paper plate from the woman. Then, he pulls off a piece of the cake and holds it up to my lips.
I hesitate but then open my mouth. And after chewing the piece of cake a few seconds, I look up and meet his awaiting stare.
“It’s good,” I say. “It’s actually really good.” I swallow and then shake my head. “It’s not really like a doughnut at all.”
“See, what did I tell ya?”
I pull off another big piece. “What are the other two things?” I ask, taking a bite.
He clears his throat as if preparing to reveal a well-kept secret.
“Ride at least one ride,” he says, proudly. “And pet a sheep.”
I stop chewing and fix my eyes on his. “What?”
He only shrugs his shoulders and nods his head.
“Pet a sheep?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s fun. Oh, and you’ve got to go to the tractor pull. That’s the last thing.”
“But wait, that’s four things,” I say.
He grabs my hips and playfully pulls my side closer to his as we start walking.
“I could have sworn you were a writer, but now I’m starting to believe you actually might be an undercover mathematician.” He narrows one eye at me. “I thought I knew you, Ada Cross.” His last words are raspy, and surprisingly, really seductive.
I try to shake off his sexy voice with a guarded laugh.
“Okay,” he says. “So, what ride do you fancy, my dear?”
I scan the area where all the rides seem to be. I know virtually nothing about rides or fairs, for that matter. I think I went to a county fair when I was little back in Independence, but I don’t remember much about it. I’m sizing up the whole place when suddenly, my eyes fall onto a tall contraption, circling high above the grassy field below it. And I know just enough to know what it is.
“The Ferris wheel,” I say.
I’m not sure, but I think my eyes light up as if I’m seven or something all over again.
“Good choice,” he says.
He picks up the last piece of funnel cake and throws the paper plate into a metal trash can.
“It’s all yours,” he says, holding it out toward me.
I open my mouth, and he feeds me the last piece.
“Mmm,” I say, chewing. “I’m really going to have to learn how to make these.”
He just grins at me and takes my hand. The ride hasn’t started, so we hurry to it. And when we reach a set of metal gates, Jorgen shows the man taking tickets our wrist bands. The man nods, then lifts a metal bar from the bench, and Jorgen and I both squeeze into the seat and pull the bar to our laps. It doesn’t take me long to realize just how perfectly close I am to Jorgen in the little bench, and it makes me sport a cheesy grin. I try to hide it by sitting back, but suddenly, the bench moves. I quickly throw my hands to the bar in front of us and straighten up again.
“Is this safe?” I ask, sounding terrified.
Jorgen laughs. “You’ve got a habit of askin’ that after the fact, don’t ya?”
I push out a nervous laugh, but then I quickly go to examining the bench, checking to make sure everything’s connected and that all the screws look tight.
“Tell me you’ve been on a Ferris wheel before.”
I stop and look at him.
“I have, but I was little, and I don’t remember the seat moving.”
“Honey, the swing’s the best part about this ride. Otherwise, you’re just goin’ in one big circle at a turtle’s pace.”
“I don’t mind turtle pace,” I admit.
I notice Jorgen’s eyes turn down toward the nonexistent space between us. “I’ve gotta admit, there are worse things in the world,” he says.
I meet his stare. I want to laugh, but something about him makes me just swoon instead. Even when he’s being cheesy, he’s somehow sexy.
Seconds go by, and his eyes don’t leave mine. And unbelievably soon, the world seems to stop. I follow his slow gaze to my lips. My heart races. All I can think about is his kiss as my eyelids fall over my eyes. But before I feel his touch, the seat jolts backwards, catching us both off guard. A sound comes from me. I think it’s part terrified, part excited. Whatever it is, I feel Jorgen’s arm wrap around me in the next moment, and I lean into him and immediately feel his chest rise and then fall into a sigh. Meanwhile, I swallow hard and try to breathe normally again. If the sudden jolt didn’t knock the wind right out of me, missing his kiss did.